


Moments that the Words Don't Reach

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: Learn to Live with the Unimaginable [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Healing Sex, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Smut, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-01-31 22:05:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18600313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: He was standing on the bridge over the Rubicon, holding out his hand.So she took his hand, planted her feet, and demanded everyone else move.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are the last two little side stories, just visiting the other couples living in the compound. But they're both mostly smut (hence, E).

The kiss had been a goodbye.

That's what Sharon told herself as she drove away from the Berlin airport. She'd torpedoed her career, burned her bridges, and done the right thing, even when it was hard. She didn't have any regrets, not really. At least, she hadn't until Steve had kissed her. It had not felt like a promise or gratitude or anything else she had expected. It had felt like goodbye, and a little bittersweet. The end of something she hadn't gotten a chance to start.

Footage of the airport fight ran on the news for days. Captain America was a fugitive, and everyone loved a fall from grace. It didn't help that Tony Stark hadn't made any sort of announcement. That alone told her whatever had gone down had been bad. She'd known Tony most of her life and there was nothing he liked better than making sure everyone knew his opinion on something. Silence was ominous.

She packed up her Vienna apartment, cried a little in the privacy of her bedroom, and tried to make a plan for the rest of her life.

Then she got a text message from an unknown number. _Know anything about breaking into a prison?_

Steve was painfully professional when she saw him again. Eyes on the prize. Full Cap Mode. And this was her line to cross there was no coming back from. She'd been fired but hadn't been charged with anything—though she supposed she could have been—and would have been able to live a normal life doing some different kind of job. Not if she did this.

He was standing on the bridge over the Rubicon, holding out his hand.

If asked - and oh boy, did her mother ask - she couldn't say why she went. She was too level headed and practical for it to have been his big blue eyes, though she was also honest enough to admit they were a factor. She supposed, if she had to put a word to it, it boiled down to being disillusioned. First SHIELD, then the utter foul up with Zemo and Barnes. It was hard for her to put her faith in another faceless agency. To trust that the system, in some form or another, had the world's best interests at heart. She was left with only her own instincts, and to a lesser degree, Steve's.

So she took his hand, planted her feet, and demanded everyone else move.

The situation inside the RAFT proved her as right as anything would have. They had Wanda Maximoff in a straight jacket and the kind of shock collar it would be illegal to put on a dog. Steve crushed it in his bare hands.

They ended up—her, Steve, Sam, Wanda, Clint, Natasha and Scott Lang—in a compound in the northern Andes on the border between Columbia and Venezuela. They'd stolen it, quite literally, from a drug cartel. If the world had really understood the extent of Wanda's powers, she'd have been tossed in the RAFT long before the Accords.

They laid low for a while. Eventually, a "mysterious benefactor" contacted Nat with house arrest deals for Clint and Scott. Sharon would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for those meetings. They went, because they had families and kids they missed. It was a little emptier without them, and Sharon missed Scott's jokes and Clint's dry observations.

Venezuela wasn't the kind of place that lacked for opportunities for vigilante work. Sharon and Nat, spies to their cores, thought popping their heads up, even a little, was a terrible idea. Steve and Sam couldn't sit still that long.

It worked out in the end. The cartels were afraid of them, and that made the local governments fans. And that meant protection.

It was still the most idle she'd ever been in her adult life.

Sharon loved taking pictures, and her camera was one of the few things she took with her on the lam. Documenting the locals and the jungle was something to do, anyway.

"Do you need better equipment?" Steve asked, loitering in the doorway of the little office she'd set up. When she looked up he gestured at her laptop. "That's a tiny screen to do photo editing on."

She glanced back at the computer. "It's smaller than I'm used to," she admitted. "But I couldn't really smuggle my big screen into my go bag."

"I'm going to Bogota to get some supplies, I can see what I can find."

"If you can't find a screen a few extra memory cards would make me almost as happy."

He came further into the room and sat down. "I need a little advice."

"No, a baseball cap is not a sufficient disguise."

Steve chuckled. "Nat suggested I grow a beard."

She was going to ignore the rather teenage squeal she wanted to make and managed a sedate nod. "I agree. Best way for a guy to change his face."

He sighed. "Wanda came to talk to me. She has, unbeknownst to us, been keeping in touch with Vision. She asked me if she could see him."

Now Sharon turned to look at him. "Do you think it's a trap?"

"No. She said he's always known where we were, and could find us anywhere in the world. Which is. . . uncomfortable. But it leads me to believe this is aboveboard."

That was a little unsettling. She considered it a moment. "Wanda's probably the strongest among us, but also the one Ross would most like to get his hands on. I'd want her to check in regularly and they have to find somewhere they won't be seen."

"I know he can make himself blend in." He paused. "And strong enough to help protect her if something should happen."

"I know Wanda's been. . . at loose ends here. I don't think it's fair to keep her here, if she wants to go out and see him. She knows she has somewhere safe to return to if she needs us."

"Yeah." He stared off into the distance a moment, then sighed. "Thanks, Sharon."

"Anytime." She reached out and touched his knee lightly. "You okay?"

He reached out, his fingers touching hers just as gently. "I don't know." It was an honest answer. No facade. All Steve and no Cap.

It broke her heart a little. He clearly felt he had to keep it together for everyone else. Meanwhile, he was dealing with all the same stuff. "You want to go for a walk with me?"

He went to tell Wanda she could make her plans, and then they went for a stroll around the edges of the compound. The night air was humid and full of the sounds of the jungle. "I want people to be able to be happy, if they can."

"It's going to be hard," she told him. "This is such a culture shock, for everyone. It'll take us all time to figure out how to find happiness."

Steve looked up at the stars. "It feels really fucking hard."

"I know." She stood next to him, watching the same stars. They were in the southern hemisphere, so the constellations were different. "But not impossible."

"You having any luck?"

She shrugged a little. "I like the photography."

He hesitated. "I used to draw."

Looking over at him, she said carefully, "I bet they have art supplies in Bogota."

That got her a little bit of a smile. "Couldn't hurt to look."

He came back from Bogota with a large monitor, memory cards, a photo printer and paper, and a trunk full of art supplies, including an easel. That man didn't do anything halfway. He set up a studio across the hall from her office, and his jaw darkened with scruff as he began to grow a beard.

Despite several weeks cooped up in the same building, they hadn't spoken about that kiss. Sharon didn't actually know how to start that conversation without sounding fourteen. But she was honest enough to admit the growing scruff kind of made her want to. Or possibly skip the conversation and go right to peeling him out of his tee shirt.

She was usually pretty good with men. Or at least good at being direct with them. But this was Steve and they were sort of stuck in close quarters. There was a lot of ways for it to go wrong. A lot of signals she could be misreading. And a lot of awkward to deal with if it didn't work.

These perfectly reasonable concerns did not stop her from laying out by the pool in a skimpy bikini and hope he noticed. 

He noticed. She could see he noticed. He noticed all the skimpy clothing that manifested as the weather got hotter and hotter. His notice was noticed by others. Sam wasn't even remotely subtle about his teasing. It just. . . hung in there in the air.

A heatwave rolled in, and overwhelmed their janky air conditioner. They closed vents and blocked off most of the house so they could at least have cool bedrooms to sleep in. Her office was too far away for the air, so she moved what she needed to work in her room. She assumed Steve had done the same, but one evening she went to retrieve more paper—she and Steve were filling the blank walls with art and pictures—when she heard noise in his studio.

Inside she found him painting. Shirtless.

That. . . that just wasn't fair.

She knocked on the open door, leaning a shoulder on the jamb. "Hey. Can't sleep?"

"Bad dreams." He put the brush between his teeth to look at his canvas. Dark blue paint dripped off the end onto his peck. It was impossible not to watch the droplet slide downwards.

Closing her hand into a fist to resist wiping it off for him, she stepped further into the room. "Want to talk?"

Steve dipped the brush and painted another stroke, but his eyes returned to hers. "What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep," she admitted with a smile. "I've been doing some photo editing to try to tire my eyes out." She went to stand next to him. "What are you working on?"

Steve had gone completely still, and she understood why he'd seemed a little. . .off while talking to her. Because she was looking at his painting, and her own face was looking back at her.

"Oh," she said softly. Her face felt hot and she knew it had nothing to do with the sticky heat of the heat wave. 

He cleared his throat. "It's not. . . I mean. . . when I can't sleep it helps to draw whatever I was dreaming--" He broke off and closed his eyes. "I'm just going to stop talking."

If he was painting her in the middle of the night, she was giving herself permission to touch him. Reaching out, she trailed her fingers over the back of his hand, tracing the corded lines of tendon. "You said you were having bad dreams."

He watched her touch him, but didn't move. "I dream you age and die and I don't."

"Oh, Steve." Her fingers bumped lightly over his knuckles and she hooked her finger around his. Swallowing, she stepped closer, almost touching him. "I haven't wanted to say anything," she whispered, catching his gaze. "But there's a little grey in your beard."

He bent his head, and the air heated even more. Enough to make her dizzy. His smile was very. .geniune. "It's a start." Then he dropped the paintbrush and cupped her face in his hands as he kissed her.

It was very, very different from the one at the airport. There was no regret or goodbye in this. Just heat and need and shuddering arousal. His hands left her face to move over the rest of her. There was nothing careful or cautious about that, either, because they were on her ass and pulling her tighter against him.

She groaned into his mouth, burying her fingers in his hair. Her other hand roamed his bare back, raking lightly with her nails. He backed her up to the table he kept in there, and lifted her right up onto it.

The kiss, somehow, got more intense. His hands were now under her tank top, raking it up above her breasts. She lifted her arms and the kiss broke for a fraction of a second while he tugged the shirt off and tossed it somewhere. Then his hands were back on her skin, cupping and shaping her breasts. One rough thumb circled her nipple and she thought she might come right then. There was paint on his hands, and blue streaked across her breast. She could see it on her thigh, too. It felt arousing and intimate. He met her eyes as he reached for the waistband of her shorts. Asking permission. In answer she braced her hands on the table and lifted her hips to he could get them down.

He pulled her to the edge of the table and then pressed his hands against the inside of her knees to spread them apart. Crouching down to kiss the inside of her thigh, he murmured, "Don't worry, I won't get the paint anywhere it shouldn't be."

"I trust you," she assured him. Though she was currently wondering if Bogata had a sex shop that sold that edible paint.

He pushed her legs wider, and then she felt his tongue slide over her clit. She looked down to watch him and couldn't look away. Traces of blue on her thighs, her skin shiny with sweat, the grip of his hands on her legs and his head between them. He dove into it, licking, sucking, stroking. It was like a scene out of her own private erotic thoughts, a fantasy come to life.  
He was singleminded in his pleasuring of her, as he was in everything else. It wasn't long before the heat building inside her became too much. Her head tipped back and she gasped for air, teetering on the edge. Mindlessly, she dug her fingers in his hair, holding him to her as she finally toppled over, her orgasm crashing through her. 

It stretched out because he didn't stop, winding the end of it back upwards. She couldn't take it anymore, and at the some moment needed it desperately. Hoping he'd understand, she yanked at his hair until he stood. She reached for his shorts and he hitched up her legs and then he was inside her. Hands under her thighs, he lifted her and moved her so he could get a better angle.

A little whimper spilled from her as his shifted drove him deeper inside. He drew out and drove back in and she cried out, nails digging into his shoulder. He did it again, and again, until she was almost dizzy with it. But she linked her ankles behind his legs and begged, "Don't stop, don't stop. Please."

He shook his head, moving faster, harder. The table shook. It was rougher than she expected, raw and elemental, but it was so fucking hot. She was in an awkward position, half falling off the table - which she was a little concerned they were about to break - without his hands gripping her thighs she'd have already toppled. But she didn't care. She didn't think any man had ever been this deep, had ever made her feel so good.

Pleasure built back up in her, impossibly high and hot. When she sensed she was getting close, she whimpered, "Please," helplessly and heard him growl, clearly enjoying the begging. Had she had any more of her senses, she'd have pushed him, dug up some explicit dirty talk describing exactly what she was begging for. But currently, all she could manage was the one word, over and over, until everything snapped and all she could do was gasp as the first waves of her orgasm crashed through her. 

The table banged against the wall, and she heard the sound of cracking wood. Steve lifted her entirely, and held her as she shuddered against him. As she was was coming back down her back hit the cool stone wall and he fucked her against it, short rough strokes until he groaned and shook himself.

Somehow he kept his feet under him as he rode it out, hips rocking lightly into her, causing little aftershocks of pleasure fluttering through her. Very slowly he eased himself down to his knees and settled her on his lap, still buried inside her.

Utterly spent and satisfied, she put her head down on his shoulder, hugging him as they both tried to catch their breath. He rubbed her back, neither of them saying anything for a while.

She pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "Well. . . I think I'm sufficiently worn out to sleep now."

Steve chuckled. "Yeah, me too."

"Want to try doing it together?"

He sighed deeply. "That sounds really nice."

After a couple more moments of basking, he helped her get to her feet and they quietly tugged on enough clothes to walk down the hall to his room.

Neither of them ever slept alone after that. If she'd known the sex would be this good, she'd have jumped him sooner.

Life continued on much as it had. Sam's teasing didn't get any more subtle. Wanda spent more time in the world with Vision than she did with them. For the most part, they all tried to find their new normal. And she thought, generally, they succeeded.

Sharon's family missed her, and though she wouldn't risk going to the US, she felt comfortable enough meeting them somewhere closer to her turf. Her father, apparently, had always wanted to see Machu Pichu.

"You could come with me," she suggested to Steve. "THey'd probably like to meet you."

"I think it's too touristy for someone as recognizable as me. Beard her no."

He was probably right, but she still felt weird leaving him. "Well. It'll only be a week." She kissed him. "I'll miss you."

He pulled her close. "I will miss you, too. I hate sleeping alone."

Both of them slept better together. She didn't know what his dreams were, other than the ones where she grew old as he watched. Whatever they were, they got better when he had her to curl up with.

Her face wasn't famous, so she had a little more freedom in how she traveled. She booked a regular flight under a fake name and packed a bag of vacation clothes. On the day she left, she made a point of saying goodbye to everyone. It was very, very hard to let go of Steve. "Call me if you need anything. I can come back early."

"We'll be fine. I promise. Have fun and try to relax a little, huh?"

"I'll try. But I'll be missing my partner in my favorite relaxation activity." He gave her a very sexy smile, then kissed her deep enough to make her toes curl. Hopefully it would be enough to hold her until she was back.

Machu Pichu was fun, though very crowded with tourist. Though she could have been anywhere, it was just so good to see her parents. She told them what she could about her life, and Steve. They saw all the sights and she went through the market and bought gifts for everyone back at the compound.

She'd ducked into a restaurant to get a cold drink and wait for her family when the news broke about the alien ship in New York.

Steve would want to get involved with that. Nat often made the joke that they'd get back in the worlds graces if there was another alien invasion. But there were four hours of train and bus rides between her and the nearest place to even try to head home.

By the time her parents had joined her, the ship had disappeared back into space and the newscasters were wildly speculating on what it could mean.

They went back to their rental and she obsessively checked her messages while waiting to hear more news.

She still hadn't heard anything and was just about to tell her parents she was leaving early, when they both disintegrated into ash.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been the most hollow victory of Steve's life. Thanos was dead, but they'd fixed nothing. 

They gathered together to travel home in near silence, each of them contemplating the grief they would now have to live with for the rest of their lives.

The Bifrost dumped them on the lawn in front of the main building at headquarters. Steve stared down at the burned grass beneath his feet, the full weight of everything hitting him. Bucky, Sam. Sharon. There was no fixing it. No bringing them back. There was just this. Those that were left. And figuring out how to move forward.

He'd taken a single step towards the building when he heard the door open. "Steve!"

He stopped in his tracks. He couldn't move. _Sharon._

She was sprinting across the lawn towards them. His shield fell from numb fingers and then he was moving, running to meet her. She launched herself at him the she got close and he caught her, a warm familiar weight in his arms. Crying, she buried her face in the curve of his neck.

"You're alive, you're alive," he mumbled into her hair. He'd been so sure she was gone like all the others. "I couldn't find you."

"I tried to call but I couldn't get through and then you weren't at the hideout." She nuzzled closer to him. "I didn't know where else to go."

"We went to fight in Wakanda-" his voice broke, and he couldn't talk anymore. The weight of everything hit him—grief, fear, exhaustion. All they fought for and all they lost.

"I know. Pepper told me." Her arms tightened on him. "Come on. Come inside."

Steve nodded, still unable to get a sound out or it was going to be a full fledged sob. It took them a minute to get moving. She steered him to the back of the house to his room and sat on the bed with him, arm around his shoulders. He noticed her bag in the corner and could smell her lotion, Clearly she'd moved in while he was gone.

He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "We fought Thanos in Wakanda, and we lost. He made half the population of the universe disappear. Then this woman shows up, someone Fury called. She's unbelievably powerful. It's apparently a story. She convinced us to try taking on Thanos again, get the glove from him, reverse what he did."

Hand flat on his back, Sharon rubbed in big circles. "It didn't work." It wasn't a question. It was obvious it hadn't work. Everyone was still ash.

"When we destroyed him, he took the glove and possibly the stones with it. Whatever happened to them, they're gone."

"Oh, Steve." She leaned on him, wrapping her arms around him. There was nothing else to say. Absolutely nothing she could say to help at all.

"I thought I'd lost everyone for good," he said quietly.

"My parents are gone," she told him. "I watched. . . it was hard."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, pulling her into his lap. She was hurting as much as he was. She tucked herself close to him and for a few minutes they just sat, lost in their own thoughts. He couldn't believe she was here. That he wasn't alone in all of this.

He still didn't have any useful words, and neither did she. So he kissed her, because it was all he could think to do. She made a soft sound and opened her mouth to him, the kiss taking off. Her fingers dug into his hair and his hands tightened on her shirt. He got lost in it, not paying attention to his hands, until suddenly the fabric gave with an audible rip.

For a moment, they paused, a little surprised. He had always tried to be careful with her, so he didn't rip anything or bruise her, though she'd never asked him to. He wasn't entirely sure how she'd react. But she just shed the remnants of her shirt and pounced on him, restarting the kiss with new fervor.

It was a crazy desperation he couldn't put words to. He _needed_ her. She was here and she was alive and she was his. The back strap of her bra broke easily; it didn't get all the way off, but it got out of his way and her breasts filled his palms.

He still had his damn uniform on. She seemed to have realized that, because she was feeling around for the clasps. It would be easier if he stood, so he turned to deposit her on the bed before standing. The top came off pretty easy, and he dropped it on the floor. Sharon was already unfastening his belt.

His boots were still on, and he had his mouth open to tell her he needed to sit, when she got the fly of his pants open and slipped a hand inside, stroking his cock. It had already been growing hard, and responded eagerly to her touch. Sharon shoved the uniform down, freeing him more fully, then bent closer to take him in her mouth.

"Fuck," he growled, sinking his hands into her hair. She had it in some kind of hairband which he pulled out just so he could get a better grip, and reminded himself to be gentle. He was sometimes vaguely embarrassed when partners did this, despite his love of a returning the favor. Sharon seemed to take a particular delight in tormenting him with her mouth, so there was no room for anything but arousal and the pleasure she brought him.

Gripping his thighs, she shifted on the bed, all without breaking contact and took him deeper, sucking hard and moving fast, until it was impossible to hold out. He let go of her hair before he hurt her, and room spun with the force of his orgasm. In truth he no real idea how he managed to stay standing up.

Sharon leaned back, looking rather proud of herself, and with good reason. She moved out of the way and he toppled himself onto the bed with none of his usual grace. He swore he heard her giggle a little as she moved to untie his boots.

"Jesus, Sharon." He dragged his fingers through his hair, letting her take his pants and boots off because he couldn't entirely move.

She stood briefly to shed her pants, then climbed back on the bed next to him. She kissed him, soft at first, then more intensely as he responded. "I missed you," she whispered, stroking her hands over his skin.

"I missed you," he replied. He held her face in his hands. "You were gone and I never got to tell you I love you."

She sucked in a breath and for a moment looked as if she might cry. Then she smiled and kissed his palm. "I love you, too."

He kissed her mouth, and for a moment they were content with that. Just a moment, though, before he slid one hand down her back, over the swell of her ass and between her legs. She was as wet as he expected her to be. She groaned at the touch, bending her leg to give him better access. He stroked along the seam of her sex and felt her shudder, nipping at his lower lip. For a little while he just did that, until she squirmed. She'd given him some patience back, and he was going to torment her with it.

She said his name, groaning, and though he made sympathetic sounds, he didn't change his pace or touch. Whimpering in frustration, she tried to arch her hips, rubbing herself against him. He dipped a finger inside her, one and then another, still stroking her slowly. Her body desperately tried to clamp around his fingers.

Moving his fingers inside her, he dropped light kisses on her cheek and jaw. Her body continued to clench on him, as if trying to draw him deeper, or prevent him from leaving. Soon she was panting, skin growing slick with sweat, but it clearly wasn't enough to finish her.

He felt her teeth on his earlobe. "Please," she whimpered, sounding desperate. "Please make me come. Please, please." 

He loved it when she begged, and considered teasing her a little more. But he was hard again, and starting to ache, so he withdrew his fingers and cupped her ass to pull her higher.

"Yes," she mumbled, wrapping her leg around his hips. He pulled her closer, sliding into her.. She was so wet, he bottomed out on the first stroke. She gave a broken cry, hooking her leg higher. He palmed her thigh, tugging her wide and sinking just that fraction of an inch deeper.

He started to move, short deep thrusts. She was so tight, the friction was incredible. Sharon clutched at him, nails little pricks of pain in his back. "Fuck me," she whispered. "Steve, yes. Fuck."

It was so achingly slow and they pushed and ground and drew each other taught. "Harder?" he asked her, though he knew the answer.

" _Yes_." He loved when she got that desperate thread to her voice. "God, yes. Harder. Fuck me harder. Bruise me, make me feel it."

He groaned and rolled her under him, grabbing her arms and pushing them to the mattress over her head. Hiking one of her legs up until her knee nearly touched her shoulder, he slammed into her. She slid with the force of it and braced her hands on the headboard. He did it again and again, holding both her legs up now, feeling something very primitive and possessive as she kept begging him, harder, harder. 

He didn't think she even knew what she was saying, clearly so deep in her pleasure she was mindless. He could stay like this all night, watching her arch beneath him. She was beautiful, lean muscles tightening as she drew closer to her peak, breasts bouncing with each of his thrusts. He wanted to keep her here like this, naked and slick and entirely his.

But all too soon he felt her start to tighten around him, muscles in her sex squeezing along his length. Her body arched, hips bucking. "Steve. Steve. Coming, I'm coming. Oh, God, Steve." Shudders ran through her and her words trailed off into broken gasps.

He bent to kiss her, more instinct than anything else, and their tongues danced as he swallowed her cries. She let go of the headboard and clawed his back, the small sting and the feel of her squeezing and pulsing around him pulling him over the edge. It was white hot and blinding, so good it was almost painful.

As it passed, he sagged down onto her. She was still trembling a little, gentle spams still pulsing around his softening cock. A handful of times, after a particularly intense orgasm of hers, he'd managed to coax a second one out of her. Exhausted as he was, he sensed this was one of those times. So he worked a hand between them, stroking her clit lightly with a finger.

Sure enough, she whimpered and arched, muscles tightening around him. She squirmed as if she wanted to move away but couldn't bring herself to do so. "Can't, I can't," she murmured, even as her hips jerked and she started to pulse around him.

"That's it, baby," he whispered, keeping the pressure light. She was so sensitive. "I can feel it."

She shook her head, but her hands clutched at his shoulders and she moved against him. "Steve, how-" She broke off, arching sharply and shuddering as a second climax rippled through her. Her body clenched on him and he found himself rocking a little, feeling his own echoes of pleasure. They were a special kind of chemistry, the two of them.

"I love you," he whispered, because it was the only thing he could say.

Tears sparkled in her eyes and she cupped his face in her hands. "I love you, too. So much."

Steve sighed. "We'll be all right. I don't know how, but we will."

She nodded and lifted her head to rest her forehead on his. "We will. I know we will."

*

Half the world had disappeared, and what was left behind was a mess. Governments across the globe had bigger things to worry about than the Sokovia Accords and the Avengers, and so they were left mostly in peace. For a while they hunkered down, all of them just putting on foot in front of the other.

A few months later, an alien spaceship containing a bunch of Asgardians and Tony Stark landed itself on the lawn. Sharon was concerned that when Steve and Tony saw each other again, there would be a fistfight, but they seemed to have made their peace.

The governments that had been ignoring them began, tentatively, calling for help. The Avengers got back to work.

She went in the field a few times, which made Steve a little nervous, though he'd never admit it. It quickly became obvious that she was of more use as a government liaison and mission control. She took in the requests, assigned teams and dealt with those governments who weren't as friendly or demanded things they couldn't provide. Natasha Romanov worked with her and together they were a rather formidable team.

There was also another reason she couldn't go along.

They had a party of sorts for Steve's birthday. She said 'of sorts' because it was thrown by the Asgardians, who were camping in an unused office building while trying to figure out permanent housing, and wanted to have an event marking their summer holidays. Thor told them it was Steve's birthday, and they gamely made him a ceremonial hat and got him mildly tipsy off some extremely strong ale they were drinking. 

Thor also made a lighting show, which they all watched and decided was just as good as fireworks. Steve and Sharon were sitting in lawn chairs after watching it, enjoying a warm summer night full of lighting bugs. There was a bonfire going and people were toasting marshmallows. Tony was arguing with Pepper about how close she should be standing to the fire, and Sharon idly thought how the other woman was really, really showing now.

It must have attracted Steve's notice, because suddenly he said, "You ever think about having children?"

The suddenness of the question made her heart seize up a little, but she answered honestly. "Now and then. More frequently of late."

He turned to look at her. "Me too."

She arched a brow, studying the rather intense expression he was wearing. "They are going to be so, ridiculously blonde."

He grinned. "Probably."

Swallowing hard, she said, "I'll stop taking my pill. And we can see what happens."

Steve leaned forward, eyes searching her face. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure I want children. And I'm sure I want children with you. I don't know if I'll ever feel ready for it. But I hear that's pretty common."

It took, she would later figure out, no more than seven days for her to get pregnant.

When her period was almost two weeks late - which she only noticed because she had FRIDAY tracking it - she took a test. The two lines were so dark they were almost black.

"I hope that doesn't mean twins," she muttered to herself, still in her pjs.

"As long as they're not identical, it'll be fine," Steve said without missing a beat.

"Says the one who doesn't have to carry them for nine months."

"Come here," Steve said, pulling her into his lap. "I'm really, really happy. Whatever happens."

She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. "Me too. Though I reserve the right to complain all I want."

"It's good for us to try to go on and. . . live our lives."

"It is." She rubbed his arm. "This is the world we have now. We have to live in it. Mourning can't last forever."

"I suppose the best response to death is birth. New life."

"From what I remember from history, most wars are followed by birth spikes."

That turned out to be entirely correct. There was an enormous baby boom that started the winter after the snap, and ramped up into the spring. By March, when Sharon was due, women were being doubled up in rooms in the maternity ward. Steve, having been raised in the first half of the 20th century, brought up the idea of giving birth at home.

At dinner, Bruce told them a story from his time in India of a perfectly healthy 22 year old woman who bled to death in delivery and he couldn't stop it, and that was the end of that.

As the big day loomed, she found herself missing her mother more than she had since the early days of the snap. She had never thought she'd be giving birth or having a baby without her mom there to offer advice and comfort. She found some solace in Pepper and the other women in the group. But it wasn't the same.

The night before the anniversary of the battle of Wakanda, she felt particularly tired and achey. She went to bed early but found herself awake around three, restless and uncomfortable.

At six am she poked Steve awake. "My water broke."

He sat up and looked at her, frozen for a moment. Then he tried to get out of bed so quickly he fell.

She had to laugh, even though it hurt a little. "Calm down. I think we have time."

"It'll be today," he said, standing. "He's my son, he'll out birthday me."

"I agree but there's eighteen hours left in today. You don't have to run."

He leaned over to kiss her. "Get dressed. I'll wake the house."

"Yes, dear." She patted his ass and headed for the closet to find her warmest mumu.

Eight o'clock in the evening, on the anniversary of the worst day of their lives, their son came into the world.

He was over nine pounds, with a healthy set of lungs and hair so blonde you could barely tell it was there. They named him James Wilson. Two days later, they brought him home, to the little family of uncles and aunts they had cobbled together. And for a little while, everything felt perfect.


End file.
